The Seven Deadly Sins
by Little Obsessions
Summary: The Addams Family commit the Seven Deadly Sins. Mostly Gomez/Morticia centered. Very dark, and Addams-esque in terms of romance. Be warned. M and very mature at that . Nothing belongs to me, all to Charles Addams Estate and 20th century Fox. Please review


_Lust_

Morticia watches him carefully, weighing up her husband before she makes any unmeasured move. She likes to drag it out and she knows he does too, she likes to make him squirm. It gives them equal pleasure. One word can tip him over the edge and she is very aware of this, so she restrains herself. She tips her head to one side and then to the other and smiles at him. He returns it gleefully, from where he is willingly incapacitated on their torture wheel; where he has been for an hour. She strokes the riding crop and raises an eye brow at him and then stares at the red welts on his chest, still burning no doubt. She wants to reach out and touch them, feel them burning but instead she contains herself. This is one difference between them, he is impulsive but she is measured - she likes gratified pleasure.

He smiles again, for he is forever cheerful in his exquisite agony - she loves him for it. And for getting rid of the family for the evening. Not that, she reminds herself with no small amount of glee, he hides his lust from anyone. It is simply that when the house is empty, their carnal pleasures are not confined to one room. She likes to frequent the dungeons best, he likes anywhere, anytime…always. She is more patient, more contained and tonight she chose the library.

She breathes in the smell of the room, which is comfortingly familiar. She is tempted to wait until he is crying for mercy. But he is quiet and watching her. She smiles at him again but it is not entirely wholesome.

"Tish," he says, surprisingly calm. She ignores him and begins running her finger along the spines of the books, each one is older than the previous. She enjoys reading, it is one of her favourite past times. But this is her absolute favourite…torture of a delicate nature, of an extremely _rewarding_ nature for both of them.

"Tish," he insists again and this time, his voice cracks with the tiniest hint of desperation. He is not always so patient when it comes to this, she finds it endearing more than enraging. She turns to him and narrows her eyes but belies her anger with a slight smile. He however, straining against the leather straps does not. He lusts too much. Though this is not a bad thing.

"Yes?" She stares at him defiantly, making sure he can see her flex the crop slightly between her fine hands.

He smiles, far more fiendishly this time, having not missed her gesture, "Let me down."

He strains his bound wrists to emphasize his point and she watches the muscles in his chest ripple slightly. He still has a wonderful physique, after even all these years. But he has not got much scope to move, so it is hardly emphasized at all. She wants to laugh but she doesn't. instead she sneers and he squirms with pleasure.

"Are you bored?" She questions pointedly, her hand on her hip.

He laughs jovially, "No."

She knows he is lying so this time she truly does give him a questioningly look. She does not like to be lied to.

"Yes," he answers, "I think we should move on…"

"Do you?" She questions condescendingly, he moans slightly and then recovers from his ardour.

He nods, almost like a little boy but she knows his youthful ways are far from his mind - she shivers at the thought of what might indeed be going on inside his head. She considers his proposal for a moment.

"To the bedroom - _our_ bedroom, Tish," he adds, "There are …_accoutrements_ up there too."

It is a very promising proposition, she conjectures but this is equal fun, though in a very different way. Driving him to the edge of insanity and then pulling him back when he is about to fall over makes her almost crazy too. But she never loses her cool, it is not proper and it would throw the balance of the game too much. She would not enjoy it. She knows there are times for control and times she can let go. Tonight she favours control and so does he. And she knows in the bedroom later she will be entirely at his mercy.

She sullies towards him and she knows she is too slow, for he is struggling now with anticipation. She reaches up, and though she is but slightly smaller than him she has to be on her tip toes. She kisses his lips but pulls away as he tries to deepen it. He growls and rattles the bonds again.

"Behave," she says quietly, so quietly in fact she wonders if he hears her. She reaches up and slowly unbuckles his left wrist. Then she turns and leaves the library. He laughs from behind her, full of mirth as he unbuckles the other and jumps down.

She doesn't like running in the house from any member of her family but that never stops her husband and he quickly catches up with her, stopping her swiftly by clamping an almost-too-tight arm around her waist just as she begins to climb the stairs. She almost squeals with fright but never would, instead she leans against him as he holds her to him. He has gone from being amorous and animalistic to being tender and romantic. He places a kiss on the back of her neck and she sinks into him momentarily, losing all need and desire to be in control.

"Cara Mia," he whispers, "How I love you. Lust after you…"

He pushes her up the stairs with a soft hand, not rough just simply guiding. She wonders sometimes how he can change so quickly and go from being so desperate and passionate to making her feel weak with such protestations of love. Her husband is so many things and how she adores him for it.

"I love-" she turns to him at their door but her words are smothered by a kiss and she is very aware she is more enslaved to him that he is to her in these moments. He effortlessly pushes her against the dresser in the hallway, even when she tries to open the door he gently slaps her hand away. Instead he does it himself.

"You are too eager," he whispers against her cheek, "Learn temperance woman."

She laughs quietly as she feels herself being backed towards the bed. He smiles as he slams the doors behind them.

"You are irredeemable," she whispers.

"I know," he pushes her onto their bed, "I lust too much."

He might lust too much, she conjectures as they bask in afterglow but then again, so does she.

_Envy_

Gomez does not like the idea of anyone being of any interest to his wife - spare himself. But he is not so lucky, in fact, every man in the room seems to be enthralled with her and he does not like it. When she hosts these parties - and she is the ultimate hostess - they fawn over her. It is not that he is not proud of how beautiful and popular she is. He just does not like the threat of someone more interesting than himself. Of course, after so many years of marriage he should not be so unsure but it keeps the fire in him alive, that desperate urge to please her and have her. He is envious of the attention she garners.

She moves effortlessly, steaming drink in hand, slithering from each to another and leaving a trail of wonder in her wake. She has dressed particularly beautifully tonight, her customary sheath glittering with beads, her red lips somewhat more vivid than usual. From his vantage point, leaning against a table in the ballroom, he watches her being the proverbial social butterfly and hates it. He likes her to be with him, at his side always. But of course he is sensible enough to realise this is not entirely possible or healthy to keep her prisoner. And he knows, always and deep down that she would never be unfaithful.

She begins moving toward him, her smile intent on something. He returns it lopsidedly, puffing on his cigar as he does so. She is there in a moment, her hand presented. He lifts it, soft and silky and kisses it.

"You have been watching me," she says lightly, raising her eye brow, "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," he shakes his head, appalled at his own stupidity. He should never doubt her affections for him, he knows it from the look in her eyes that she sees ultimately, only him.

"Come along now, Gomez," she says coyly, running her hand over his silk cravat, down his front and stopping enticingly at his waistband. she is the ultimate tease with her hands.

"What darling?" He reaches round pulling her in one swift move to lean entirely against him, pressing to him. For anyone else this might be inappropriate but for them, it is entirely normal.

"Mother?" Pugsley is pulling on Morticia's sleeve. He is only young - six - but already he is the public monster his parents are proud of . She does not take her eyes from her husband though as she addresses her son.

"Yes darling?" She answers, eyes still boring into his own. Gomez feels as if he is under particular scrutiny, however loving.

" Wednesday is trying to poison me," he whines, tugging again on her sleeve. Morticia turn to look into the crowd, where they both spot Wednesday, still small at only 7, a bottle of arsenic in her hand.

"Well," Morticia turns to him this time, a kind smile on her face, "Don't come whining to me. Go tell her you will poison her right back."

He nods, laughs and runs off after Wednesday who disappears into the dancing crowd.

"Little rascals," he laughs.

"I love you Gomez," she says quietly, sipping on her drink. He laughs again as he takes her glass from her and places it on the table.

"And I you," he reaches forward and kisses her. She returns it, more forcefully than he imagined. She is not, evidently feeling romantic. Her nails are digging into his face, her mouth firmly against his. He has the feeling she wants everyone in the room to see and he enjoys it just as much. Of course, the people in this room have seen it all before. She detaches herself.

"You do trust me, Gomez?" She looks suddenly tired and her unflappable cool seems to have waned slightly. He feels guilty and no doubt, she knows it.

"Of course, beautiful," he says, reaching out to touch her collarbone.

"Good," she smiles and at that the last little doubt of envy disappears from him, for her smile is dazzling. He takes her away to dance.

"Quiet." She crawls on top of him and he is amazed at just how feline she is. Downstairs, he can hear Lurch escorting the last straggling revellers of their party out but nothing can distract from the wonderful creature slithering up his body, covered only in the tiniest slip of silk. She sets about tying him to the bed post, even though he has begged her not to. Morticia however, never listens. She smiles as she tightens the velvet, his wife has a penchant for fine materials.

"Good boy," she offers, tipping her head to kiss him.

"Can I have a cigar?" He motions with his head to the cigar box on the dresser, but she is not paying attention. Instead she is kissing his chest, slowly removing his shirt.

"No," she whispers slowly, looking up at him with ridiculously misleading eyes. He whimpers and as punishment, she bites his chest. He hisses slightly and wonders how he could ever have envied any man that gets near her, for he is the only one she will ever do this to. And sweet mercy, how he loves her.

_Gluttony and Wrath_

Wednesday worries about her brother but not in a kind way. He eats too much, she conjectures as she watches him attack his third helping of pudding. Her Father has finished hours ago and Pugsley can still eat. She wonders where he puts it all. Looking at her parents and being the truly sceptical and cruel 18 year old she is, she wonders where he garnered the constitution of a horse. She has the same shape of her Mother, curvy but willowy at the same time and her father is strictly athletic. But Pugsley; he is ball shaped and simply strange.

Pubert is sitting in his chair, running a Hearse shaped toy car up and down the side of the table. It is grating her. Her brothers irritate her, especially Pugsley's eating habits. She wants to get up and force the food down his throat until he chokes and dies. Finally he finishes up and does not ask for any more. Mother stops talking to Father and smiles at her eldest son.

"Finished darling?" She questions and as if on cue, Lurch takes Pugsley's plate away. He smack his lips and it disgusts Wednesday. He smiles benignly.

"You are glutinous," she mutters cruelly under her breath, "You know."

He laughs at her, "Sleep with one eye open tonight, darling sister."

She frowns, he could never get the better of her. And anyway, it is all out torture now. Their youthful camaraderie will never return after such a betrayal. She has a feeling Mother frets about their utter dislike of each other and she can just hear Father tell her he was the same with Uncle fester. She can just imagine Mother retorting in that cutting manner, 'look what happened there'. But then she will say something soothing and Father will rush her to the nearest dark corner and ravish her. She knows how to get what she wants but Wednesday struggles with this. She fails to be so alluring.

Pubert looks up, his eyes glittering with adorable malice, "Mother?"

Pubert, being the last little baby has a special place in her Mothers heart. He is forever the child and he plays on her Mother's affections perfectly. But she, she is her Father's diamond and little girl. And Pugsley, well she has to concede that Pugsley is uncle Fester's protégé. He spends most of his time blowing things up. But she prefers other tactics, more discreet methods of harm. Like Morticia, deadly and beautiful. Except she thinks herself only deadly in a cruel way and far from beautiful.

Her Mother looks up and Wednesday finds herself startled by how similar she is to her. But it does not bother her, in fact she sometimes wishes she was as secure in her beauty as her Mother who can use her feminine wiles to great advantage. She will have to learn but she trapped in her childish ways, frightened to grown out of them.

"Yes darling?" her Mother looks at her younger brother from across the table.

"Mother," Pubert clambers down from his seat and crawls onto Father's lap, "Wednesday and Pugsley are arguing in whispers."

Gomez looks down at his son, "And it doesn't concern you, little pup." Her Father is adorably stern.

Pubert looks momentarily stumped but then he turns to Wednesday and sticks his tongue out. It does not go unnoticed by either parents and Morticia stares at him. He cowers slightly but then with great agility, comparable to that of his father he switches to Morticia's knee to divest a repentant hug.

Yes, her brothers truly do irritate her.

The dining room soon clears and she is left with her decisive Mother, who though she loves very much she finds knows too much and is too aware of peoples emotions. Morticia reaches out a pale hand as they stand up to touch her shoulder and stall her from making a quick exit.

"And what is truly the matter, Wednesday? I hardly think your brother's gluttony is the true reason for your ire."

She smiles slowly at her Mother, "Pugsley will feel my wrath."

Morticia laughs slightly, "For what darling?"

"He stole letters-" she stalls to correct herself, she hates anyone knowing too much about her even her beloved Mother, " Personal correspondence from my room. He has yet to return them."

"Well," Morticia nods her head and sits, her back ram rod straight on the chaise lounge in the corner, "That is rather serious. Especially when it is letter from young Mr. Glicker."

Wednesday feels her mouth drop open momentarily but composes herself again. She sees herself in her Mother so much it is frightening.

"How did you know?" Wednesday asks.

"Here," Morticia goes to the dresser drawer and produces them, "I wrapped the love letters your Father gave me in red ribbon too…even after we were married. Even the ones he sends me every now and then these days." She smiles knowingly, "I saw Pugsley sneaking from your room this morning, I took them from him. No girls' privacy should be invaded."

Wednesday almost feels herself blush under her pale skin as she takes them from her Mother, "He Didn't tell me," she says stoically, "He made out he still had them and had read them."

"He didn't have them at all !" Morticia answers, "He did not even get the chance to read them."

Wednesday cools with relief. It is not that these letters are gushy and she imagines that they are nothing of the calibre her Father would be able to write to her Mother. In fact, she cringes at what those letters may say. But these are still personal. And still, even though they have been returned to her, she will execute her wrath on her glutinous brother.

"And neither did I," her Mother reaches out and touches her hair. The same hair she has.

"I wouldn't mind…"she trails off, "If you had."

"I think you are growing up, Wednesday," Morticia smiles slightly, "I cannot believe it."

Wednesday feels the same way and she is too afraid to say that she hates it. That she wants to be little again, that she feels as if she is drifting away from her youth without truly knowing where she is going.

"You are going to be a beautiful woman, and your anxiety suits you" her father is in the doorway, cigar in hand, and given that nothing goes amiss between her parents, she imagines he knows exactly what has been said. She finds comfort in it. In knowing he knows about Joel and other things.

"Just like your Mother," he continues. She walks toward him and does something entirely out of character that shocks even herself. She reaches up and kisses his cheek. He rests a hand on her shoulder.

"Feel free to invite young Mr. Glicker any time, " Gomez says quietly as she heads upstairs, her letters clutched tightly in her hand. She knows that is a huge step for her Father who loathes the very idea of her having a suitor.

The next morning Pugsley wakes up in the middle of the swamp, his entire explosion collection tied to his mattress and ticking away his demise. She stills knows how to exact her youthful wrath she realises with determined glee. She enjoys watching him writhe but as usual, miraculously he survives. Well, you can't have everything.

_Vanity/Pride_

She hates the idea of getting older, this is one thing she cannot bow to gracefully. After three children, she is still beautiful but she is getting visibly older. She sits at her dresser, brushing her hair over her shoulder. It is still ebony coloured and she still retains smooth skin, she cannot say life has not been kind to her vain side but yet, she feels in herself she is getting older. She sighs and touches her face ruefully. It is wrong to be vane but she cannot help it. And she hates admitting she feels that way but the thought of growing old does not sit well with her.

The door of her room creaks open, not heralding her husband as she hopes but instead her youngest son. She smiles at him, he is as good a substitute.

"Good evening, little one," she says, returning to the mirror and staring at his reflection behind her.

"Hello, Mother," he answers absently, his eyes scanning the room, "Where is Father?"

"Ah, in the Library."

He quickly makes his way to the door determinedly, his nightdress trailing on the floor but she is quick to her feet.

"Pubert!" She demands. He stops in his tracks, turning on his heels.

"Mother?"

"Bed time," she answers quietly. He smiles like he does when he is caught feeding his tarantula too much. He comes over to hug her legs. She notes his tendancy of bestowing affection and loves it. He reminds her of Gomez too much. His tiny moustache, his penchant for fencing. She imagines his wife will be a very happy woman, whoever she happens to be and Morticia knows she herself will hate her.

Just as he curls around her, Gomez comes into the room. Robe flying behind him as he slams the door. She feels their bedroom door takes quite a beating.

"Cara Mia-" he is about to wax something enthusiastically and she has no idea what it is but at the tug on his pyjama bottoms he stops to look down.

"Father," the boy demands, moving to his hero. He has tired of her now.

"Hello, little pup," Gomez bends down with agility and wrestles the child into a gentle headlock, lifting him onto their bed afterwards. Pubert giggles and laughs and settles himself on the satin sheets.

"What is it you want?" Gomez asks jovially, setting himself down on the bed. Morticia finds this display enthralling and she wilfully admits that she gets much pleasure form watching her husband with their children. He is a doting father and she is proud to be his wife.

"You said you would put me to bed and tell me a story," he answered, reading an indictment of promises made by his father from his small fingers. She catches her husbands eye and raises one perfectly sculpted eye brow.

"I did, didn't I!" Gomes smiles at her, she returns it wanly. For she is truly tired.

"Yes," Pubert nods, unsheathing a small knife from within his robe pocket and looking at his reflection in it "You said you would give me the best nightmares I have ever had!"

"Oh, that my boy your Father can do. No toys before bed," she interjects sweetly, putting her hand out for the blade. Pubert merely looks confused as he hands it over while Gomez laughs.

"You little scallywag!" He smiles proudly.

He is forever smiling and how she loves it. She has rarely seen him angry and he has never once been angry at her. Yes, they have heated words but he never sneers or frowns like she might. Everything is full of joy for him, perhaps it is him that will keep her young. Tonight she wants him to herself, for what pursuit it does not matter. If it is for a playful romp, or for a darker pastime or anything else she truly could not care. She just wants him tonight. More than usual. He makes her feel beautiful.

"I will be back soon," he vows, being pulled to the door by his eager son, "I promise."

He turns to the boy, "Go settle yourself, turn out the lights. Is the fire alight in your room? Remember to take away the guard…"

Pubert nods enthusiastically as he disappears out of sight. Suddenly her husband's face is full of concern as he comes towards her. She stares at his reflection in the mirror.

"Morticia, you look tired," he bends to kiss her shoulder, moving the material of her robe slightly to expose the pale skin to his lips.

"I am," she laughs, "Nothing sleeping wont cure of course."

"No, indeed darling," he answers, "Don't wait up."

He lifts her hand and kisses it. Then he leaves the room.

She is barley aware of him crawling in beside her not long after her but her name lingers in her ears, "Morticia?"

"Yes," she murmurs, turning and opening her eyes. She can barely make him out in the darkness, but she can just see his face.

"You are beautiful," she feels his hand on her hip and him compelling her towards him, "And I am sinfully proud of you and our children."

She curls up against him, still entirely vain but somewhat reassured that he will keep her young. He makes her feel beautiful. And it is just in the simple pursuit of sleep, he has that affect on her. Never mind anything else.

_Sloth_

Morticia is never used to seeing him slothful and she hates it. He sits before the ridiculous television, his eyes glued to the screen. An interesting idea she muses, but not the point of the matter. He has not even dressed today and it angers her. She has suggested they go for a drive, she has tried everything in her power to animate him but it is not working. And this irritates her even more.

He isn't even _interested_ in her. And it is not as if she has made no attempt, in fact she has tried everything in this confined space to arouse him; it has not worked. And this, even more than anything, is irritating her.

She wants to lash out at him but there is not the remote chance she will - she doesn't exact revenge that way. She will have her revenge on the people that have done this to him instead, for she knows it is only how he reacts when he is wounded. And really, she feels pity for him beyond anything. But he is truly irritating her.

Everyone is sleeping but she finds herself wandering around the ridiculously small room, missing home and missing what her marriage was merely two nights ago. She feels more than burning anger for Fester, or whoever he happens to be. She perches herself on the edge of a plastic, overstuffed chair and watches him in the small bed they have been degraded to sharing. But she will not let it get the better of her, for she is more than that.

He is restless, she can see it in they way in which he is lying. He is not comfortable and she certainly cannot blame him. And she for one is fed up of trying to sleep. Because she cannot.

He stirs again and this time sits up, rubbing his eyes, obviously immediately aware she is not there. He stares around the room and latches his eyes onto her, her silhouette in the window.

"Morticia?" he says groggily, "Morticia. Lie down."

She waves a dismissive hand and says sharply "I am not tired."

"Morticia," he says imploringly and she is pleasantly surprised by the sternness in his voice, "Come."

She sighs and she knows he is right. After her disastrous day at the childcare centre, she is tired. Why didn't the children want to hear the real story? Just another blow. She shakes her head to herself as she makes her way to the bed and her beckoning husband. He pulls back the covers and though she knows fine well she will not sleep, because above all it is so damn uncomfortable in that stupid single bed.

She rests her head against the wall as she settles herself in the bed and already, Gomez is resting against her. Sleeping perhaps a little more peacefully. But she finds sleep elusive still.

She looks around the room again, at each and every member of her family, touching his forehead softly. She is fed up of the sloth and laziness of her husband and his pain she cannot stand, it doesn't sit well with her. But she will enact her revenge and she will regain everything she has lost for she will not stand these circumstances.

_Greed_

Gomez is, by all intents and purposes not a greedy man materialistically. But with affection, he most certainly is. He supposes though -as he sits back in the leather chair and puts his feet up on the desk before him- he has never wanted for anything materially but love is hard to come by. And he knows indeed that what he has cannot be bought.

He lights a cigar and sighs, life is good. And his stocks went up today, quite remarkably. But apart from that his family is content and Wednesday, well his darling daughter is growing up. She got into all of the best colleges and declined them all in favour of a year out on a grand tour. He arranged it today in fact. She starts off in Death Valley and goes on from there and he is worried, however pleased for her.

And Morticia, she is still gloriously untouched by age and really any event or anyone. Spare him, he smiles devilishly to himself. And his youngest son, the little pup. He scampers around and Gomez keeps his back to the wall at all times, which he hasn't done since his two eldest were infants. And Pugsley, well for all the boy is lazy and glutinous, he is a fabulous role model for Pubert. He is proud of both his boys.

And his wife, his darling wife…his thoughts wander into carnal places just as the door squeaks open. He was not expecting to be disturbed. His wife stands gloriously at the door, her willowy body curving against the frame. She smiles slightly.

"I was just thinking about you," he says, tipping his cigar between his teeth.

"Really?" She raises her eye brow. She reads him very well and no doubt knows exactly what he was thinking.

"Yes," he stands up and comes towards her. She reaches forward and taking his face in her hands, kisses him for a few blissful minutes, her nails scratching his face lightly. He drapes his arms round her waist and lifts her, trying to pull her toward the desk. She moves away but he gravitates her nearer, she forces him back yet again.

"Don't be covetous," she says flirtatiously as she runs a hand down his face, "Doesn't that satisfy?"

"Never," he answers, leaning against the desk, "But it can wait."

"Tonight," she promises and he knows she never lies. Though he imagines he is rather greedy.

"Where's Pubert?"

"Pugsley took him out to the park…with a pea shooter and the explosives we gave him for his Birthday. He has broken the handle off the axe that Dementia and Fester gave him already and lost the chemistry set we gifted ."

"Capitol idea. Some Brother bonding time. Though he is a tad reckless with his belongings. Boys will be boys."

She nods in agreement.

She reaches forward and settles the lapels on his suit, though there are perfectly smooth.

"Tish?" He knows she wants to say something but is choosing her words carefully, he likes to cajole her along.

"Mr. Glicker is here," she says quietly. Ah, so that is what is troubling her. Not because she does not like Joel, but Gomez hates him and she knows this very well. In fact he has waxed lyrically about it a good number of times when they are alone. And that is putting it lightly. In fact he despises him.

He sighs and stares at his wife, willing her to continue.

"He wishes to speak to you."

"I see," he answers, weighing the very idea up. The boy is nice, mediocre and he could be worse. But Wednesday is his little girl and too young to be so deeply involved. And he wants her to stay here, under his watchful eye for as long as possible. In fact, forever.

"She is too yo-"

Morticia turns angered eyes on him and his words are swallowed under a quelling look.

"I was her age, Gomez!" She says pointedly, "When we were married. I don't remember you having any objection at that time."

"But you and I, we were…different," he says lightly.

"How so?" She crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing.

He doesn't really have an answer for that, well, he does but-

"I don't want to give her up…yet," he says ruefully, "And I know he's here to ask for her hand. I just know it, Tish!"

"So do I," his wife agrees sympathetically, "But we cannot stop her and I for one, do not want to."

He is tempted to ask her if she will put a wager on being able to stop her but he knows better than to indulge Morticia's wrath. It never bodes well in the marriage stakes to irritate his beautiful wife.

"Don't you remember how it felt, Gomez…hmm?" Her tone changes from one of anger to poisonous lust as she reaches out to run her hand over his chest, her hand lingering dangerously at his waistband. He closes his eyes momentarily, all thought of his daughter's child hood becoming lost, then suddenly his eyes snap open at the very thought. And how it enrages him.

"I just hope Wednesday hasn't felt anything of the sort!" He answers alarmingly, they very though curdling his blood. Morticia slaps his chest softly.

"Enough," she orders "What Wednesday does is her business."

"I beg to diff-"

"he loves her, Gomez," his wife interrupts softly, "And she returns it."

"How can you know?" He questions childishly.

"I just do," she answers.

"Female intuition?" He touches her hair softly as she nods.

He has to back down, he knows, for he cannot prevent his daughter or indeed deny her the love he knows is nigh impossible to find. But he does not want to lose her, for he is greedy with his little family. The family he wants to keep forever.

"You will still be her Father," Morticia insists, "And my husband."

He raises his eye brow, "I hope you were not planning to marry Mr. Glicker. What a double blow!"

"Hardly," she laughs, "Mon Cher."

He moans slightly and reaches forward for her hand.

"Later," she snatches her hand away from his grasp, "You have a visitor."

"I know," he nods his head slightly.

"I shall leave you to it," she says making her way to the door. He watches her go, hears her faintly telling Joel he can 'go in' and then watches as the boy, shaking visibly comes into the room. He ponders whether or not to sit behind the desk, which will no doubt look imposing. He thinks that will be slightly unfair.

"Come in, Joel."

"Hello Mr Addams," Joel says quietly, staring at his sandal-clad feet.

"Gomez, please Joel…" he corrects, finding himself feeling unwillingly sorry for the boy, "How can I help you?"

"I want to marry your daughter," the boy says so quickly, loudly and nervously, "C-can I?"

"I am reluctant Joel," he smiles, "But I can't be greedy forever."


End file.
